WW1 British soldiers of Pilipino descent courtesy of research done by Mr. Nestor
Palugod Enriquez, online historian. His source of information for the military history of the De La
Cruz of Liverpool England is Mr. John Dela Cruz* (great
grandson of John (Juan) Dela Cruz, a native of the Philippines, & Elizabeth Winn)

Please visit the following website pages of Mr. Enriquez for more details:

In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks,
still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn
Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to
hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep,though poppies growIn Flanders fields.

by Lt.Col John McCrae, MD Canadian Army to honor
Lt. Alexis Helmer, his friend & former student who died on 5/2/1915 on the WW1 Ypres Battle

'Reply to In Flanders Fields'

Oh! Sleep in peace where poppies grow;The torch your
failing hands let goWas caught by us, again held high,A beacon light in Flanders skyThat dims the stars to those
below,You are our dead, you held the foe,And ere the poppies cease to blow,We'll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.

Oh! rest in peace, we quickly goTo you who bravely died, and knowIn other fields was heard
the cry,For freedom's cause, of who you lie,In Flanders Fields.

As in rumbling sound, to and fro,The lightning
flashes, sky aglow,The mighty hosts appear, and highAbove the din of battle cry,Scarce heard amidst the guns below,Are
fearless hearts who fight the foe,And guard the place where poppies grow.Oh! sleep in peace , all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.

And still the poppies gently blow,Between the crosses, row on row,The larks, still bravely
soaring high,Are singing now their lullabyTo you who sleep where poppies growIn Flanders Fields.

-- John Mitchell

ANOTHER REPLY TO"IN FLANDERS FIELDS"

In Flanders Fields the cannons boom,And fitful flashes
light the gloom;While up above, like eagles, flyThe fierce destroyers of the sky;With stains the earth wherein
you lieIs redder than the poppy bloom, In Flanders Fields.

Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,The quaking trench, the startling yell,The fury of the battle hellShall
wake you not, for all is well;Sleep peacefully, for all is well.Your flaming torch aloft we bear,With burning
heart and oath we swearTo keep the faith, to fight it through,To crush the foe, or sleep with you,

In Flanders Fields

by J.A. Armstrong

America's Answer

Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead.The fight that ye so bravely ledWe've taken up. And we will keepTrue faith
with you who lie asleepWith each a cross to mark his bed, In Flanders fields.

Fear not that ye have died for naught.The torch ye threw to us we caught.Ten millions hands will hold it high,
And Freedom's light shall never die!We've learned the lesson that ye taught In Flanders fields.

by R.W. Lilliard

'For The Fallen'

With proud thanksgiving,
a mother for her children,England mourns for her dead across the sea.Flesh of her flesh they were,
spirit of spirit,Fallen in the cause of the free.Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royalSings sorrow up
into immortal spheres.There is music in the midst of desolationAnd a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,Straight of limb, true of eye, steady
and aglow.They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,They fell with their faces to the foe.They shall
grow not old, as we that are left grow old;Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.At the going down of the
sun and in the morningWe will remember them.

They mingle not with laughing comrades again;They sit
no more at familiar tables of home;They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;They sleep beyond England's foam.But
where our desires are and our hopes profound,Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,To the innermost heart
of their own land they are knownAs the stars are known to the Night;As the stars that shall be bright when we are
dust,Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,To the
end, to the end, they remain.

Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

Last Post

by Robert Graves

The bugler sent a call
of high romance—
"Lights out! Lights out!" to the deserted square.
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
"God, if it's this for me next time in France ...
O spare the phantom bugle as I lie
Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with the other broken ones
Lying so stiff and still under the sky,
Jolly young Fusiliers too good to die."